


Talk Literary to Me

by thathyperloudfangirlchick



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Bookstore AU, F/M, The Marriage Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 00:57:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4940542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thathyperloudfangirlchick/pseuds/thathyperloudfangirlchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the prompt “I’m in a bookshop and I really need that book can you get it for me??? Wait you’ve read that book? let’s have an in depth conversation about it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk Literary to Me

          ‘Just a little more… Just a liiiiiittle moooooore,’ you think, your fingers just barely brushing the bottom of the book’s spine even as you stand on your tippy-toes on the second shelf of the bookcase. What kind of bookstore has these kind of ridiculously tall shelves anyway? Are there any human beings that exist that could reach the stinkin top shelf of these stupid things?!?

          “Excuse me, miss, would you like some help?” You turn at the voice next to you, and ‘wow those are some green eyes,’ you think before your flats’ grip on the wood slips, your toes coming out from under you, and you clench your jaw, prepared to make unpleasant bodily contact with the hardwood floor. Instead, you feel strong, solid hands on your hips as Mr. Handsome Green Eyes catches you and settles you with your feet on solid ground. You can only blush at the amused uptick of his lips as he points to the top shelf. “The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides?” You nod and seethe as he easily fingers the hardcover, tan book out of its (to him) easily accessible spot.

          (You stand by your statement that no human beings could reach that shelf, eyeing his tall, svelte frame, geek-chic attire, and tousled, chestnut hair. There’s like a ninety-five percent chance he’s an evil, scientist-rendered robot of hotness. Either that, or you actually did fall from the shelf, hit your head, and die, and he is the anesthesia-induced hallucination that has come to take you into the light, and with hair like that, you’d follow him.)

          He hands you the book with a smile, and your flush only becomes more pronounced as his warm, soft fingertips brush against yours in the trade-off and send sparks through your nervous, touch-heightened skin.

          (Definitely not a robot then, so he’s probably a mirage, unless he’s a really well-made robot. You’d have to touch him a bit more to find that out, and oh, Y/N, wouldn’t that be fun but WOW, Y/N, reigh in the thirst, girl, you can’t lust after a robot.)

          (… Wow, Y/N, see, this is why babes like Mr. Handsome Green Eyes don’t come into your life, because you’re weird and start mental rants about robots.)

          (Shit, wait, he’s saying something, say something back.)

          “… yes…?” you reply, with a small grin, making Mr. HGE laugh as he glances down at you, amused.

          “Yes with a question mark is your opinion of Eugenides’s use of misogyny and tropes as characterization in the attempt to create a post-modern romance novel?” You perk up at the familiar subject, shaking your head.

          “Sorry, sorry, I was zoning out, but no, dude, the writer’s choice to create a misogynistic, stereotypical love triangle only to invert those stereotypes and make them and their relationships something more was fuckin genius in my mind! This is one of my favorite books, cause it’s so unexpected, the character growth, don’t you think?”

          “Excuse me, you’re blocking Fifty Shades of Gray,” a derisive voice sneers from behind you, and you quickly scutter away from the woman at your heels, apologizing from behind Mr. HGE as she glares at you, grabbing the newest of the trashy romance novel series and leaving with a superior toss of her hair. It is only when the woman turns the corner of an aisle that you the stranger meet eyes and laugh together at the image of a person acting so high-and-mighty while clutching a freakin Fifty Shades of Gray book.

          “Hello, my name’s Spencer Reid,” Mr. HGE says, introducing himself and offering his hand. You look up at him, cause he is that fuckin tall what the hell, and smile, shaking the offered hand.

          “Y/N Y/L/N. To whom would you ascribe the titles of protagonist and antagonist in The Marriage Plot?” Spencer raises his eyebrows at the underlying passion and fascination in your voice as he leads the two of you towards nearby armchairs.

          “See, Y/N, that is a really interesting question, and to properly answer it, one has to first ask, ‘what are the definitions of Protagonist and Antagonist?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

          “And that’s why, in my opinion, Leonard is the most sympathetic, realistic character. What do you think?”

          “I think your brain is like the coolest thing ever, is it like physically bigger than the average brain? Or is the idea that brain size is correlating to intelligence a myth? I think it’s so cool you read this book in live two minutes. You’re cool. Also, I agree, Leonard’s plights with his own psyche and medications are something I understand and relate too completely, especially the “I think I’m better and smarter than my doctor, I’m gonna go off my meds” thing.” You reply, your chin in your hand as you lean towards Spencer in his own chair whose stance mirrors yours. He doesn’t know, something about you draws him in.

          “You must see that a lot at work as a nurse,” he replies placidly as the light in your eyes ignites yet again, if he can really say it dimmed at all. You wave your free hand in the air wildly as your expressive mouth tightens in disdain.

          “So much! I mean, it’s pure hubris and stigma that our patients will go off their meds. They think “oh, lookie me, I’m totally too good to take this scientifically supported medicine for my condition, I don’t want to take my crazy pills,” when in actuality, that’s just the stigma around mental health in society talking, you know?” you ask, wiping your glasses with the cloth of your red sweater as you take a much-needed breath and continue. “Like, if they had an infected wound, they wouldn’t wait till it became not fucking green, and suddenly decide “Oh, I must be better, and whatever else there is, I can beat it on my own, I don’t need antibiotics anymore” NO. Listen to science, my sweet little duckling patients, seriously,” you huff under your breath, too exasperated to continue ranting. Spencer just looks on with amused, fascinated eyes as you attempt to blow a strand of hair out your eyes, not noticing the nondescript man approaching them from the side.

          “Excuse me, customers. I’m sorry to disturb you, but we’re closing now. If you’re buying anything, we would like to ask that you go downstairs to check out, please.” Spencer only waves him away with a nod while you apologize profusely and get up, gathering your things. As he begins to collects his own belongings, he feels slightly disappointed to have time with you interrupted and confused as to when that feeling came about. When he looks at you, takes in the bright sparkle of your eyes, the protective, loving way you hold close the book to your chest, and the greedy, admiring way you absorb any information he gives you, you remind him of a John to his Sherlock, appreciative of his intellect and knowledge while you yourself are in no way lacking in either. When he looks at you, he feels an attraction to your mind he has not felt in quite some time.

          “So, Spencer, it was really nice meeting you,” you say, suddenly shy as you fidget with the book in your hands and look down at your shoes. The time had passed so quickly, the words coming out so naturally, that you had forgotten that good things come to an end. Now the two of you have to leave, you have a shift at the hospital in an hour, and the two hours spent with him would be just that, just two hours. Your fingers clench uncomfortably tight at the thought, making you drop the book in your hands. You flush in embarrassment, immediately kneeling down to pick it up, only for your hand to brush against Spencer’s as he kneels down and reaches for the book at the same moment as you.

          The contact sends heat and sparks through your skin again, and you recoil, clutching your wrist to your chest and feeling your face grow even warmer. He only smiles enigmatically at this, picking up the offending object and holding it out to you. When you reach for it, he feints and puts that hand behind his back, instead grasping your hand in his and brushing a feather-light kiss against your knuckles, his captivating green eyes so close to yours, you don’t even register the sneaky smile on his lips cause you’re too busy trying to name that exact shade of green.

          “It’s been nice meeting you too, Y/N. See you around.” He hands you your book, helps you to your feet, and walks away without another word, leaving you wholeheartedly confused about what just occurred but still blushing like a medieval maiden. Only after a few starstruck seconds do you notice something in your hand, the hand he kissed. How did his card make its way in your palm?


End file.
